The Artist Who Paints Dungeon-Chapter 323

The phenomenon occurred without warning.

“...? Wh-What the hell? What’s wrong with the system?”

“So it wasn’t just mine?”

“No, seriously, what... This makes no sense.”

Around 4 a.m.—those awake at that time confirmed the presence of a ‘system error.’ Text within the system was distorted, or it failed to activate entirely. Something had gone wrong.

And with that, people realized something unsettling.

“So the system isn’t permanent?”

“Shit, is some crazy shit about to go down again...?”

“Is this the start of Catastrophe Season 2?”

“Don’t even joke about that, please.”

To Earthlings—especially the awakened—the system was like air. Ubiquitous, taken for granted, but vital. If it vanished, it would be catastrophic. That was what the system had always been.

But there was one key difference between air and the system: the system had been created by three humans.

For 32 years, no one had really thought about it, but the truth was—the system could disappear.

“You guys are being way too dramatic.”

Some people said things like this.

“Didn’t you see the system warning window? It said there was an error.”

“Yeah, but the fact that the system can have an error...”

“Well, it was made by humans—of course there’d be imperfections.”

It was entirely possible, they said.

“I mean, come on. The system’s only been around for 30 years. Even games get bugs all the time, and they need to be patched and updated over and over.”

“You’re seriously comparing the system to a game?”

“How is it different? The system’s man-made too. Sure, you can’t compare it one-to-one with a video game, but glitches? They’re inevitable. It’s not some naturally occurring thing.”

“Well... I guess that’s true...”

“I’m not saying this incident isn’t serious. What I’m saying is—it’s possible. There’s no such thing as perfection.”

There were plenty of such opinions.

Still, one truth became undeniable to the people:

The system is not perfect.

Some claimed, “It’s impressive it’s lasted this long without issue.”

Others worried, “What if this is the beginning of system collapse?”

And there were only three people on Earth who could actually answer that question.

“The Association is already aware of the issue and working on a solution.”

They merely said this:

“Due to the confidential nature of system operations, we cannot disclose details. However, the Association is committed to Earth’s safety and solemnly promises to resolve this system error.”

It was basically a long-winded way of saying “Just trust us.” There was no substance—but the people, initially confused and unsettled, soon nodded along.

They trusted the current government and the Association.

People grumbled, but they backed off.

“Well, it’s not the first time they’ve hidden confidential info like this...”

“Guess there are things civilians aren’t supposed to know.”

“Let’s just leave it to the pros and stop overreacting.”

Both awakened and unawakened citizens knew something about the concept of “Promise.” It was a kind of contract—fragile enough to collapse with just a few words. So hiding the details made a certain kind of sense.

Especially in the cities, where nearly everyone had received help from the government or the Association. Everyone knew that the Symbols of Eternity were always trying to protect Earth, even at great personal cost. Their trust slowly brought calm.

“Nothing major happened anyway.”

“True that.”

Aside from the brief scare, there were practically no casualties. They now knew the system wasn’t eternal or flawless—but so what?

“The Association will take care of it.”

“Didn’t the president say she’s taking strong action too?”

“It’s not really something we need to stress over.”

In the end, what mattered was practicality. As long as there was no real harm, it was just an incident. Those who came to that conclusion began returning to their daily lives.

As long as this wasn’t the start of another disaster.

But there was one group that posed a problem—

those who knew about the Promise of Eternity.

“......”

With a doll-like expression, Association President Dan Haera smiled.

“Let’s convene.”

“Yes, I’ll make the calls.”

“This matter will be personally handled by His Excellency the President and our Symbols of Eternity.”

“Understood.”

“Now then...”

She tilted her head.

“Things are getting interesting.”

Though she smiled, her face did not look entertained.

***

“Yeah, it’s me, goddammit.”

Jeong Hae-Woon’s bold confession that he was likely the cause of the incident had Seo Seo-Hee smacking his forehead.

“You really say that after causing this much shit?”

“What, you want me to cower or something?”

“I got the report that you’ve been cohabiting with «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» ‘Gio’s portrait.’”

“Fucking rat bastards are disgustingly diligent.”

“We’ll come back to the rat talk later. This incident—it’s because of him, right?”

After a pause, Seo Seo-Hee asked,

“...Did you remember something?”

“That’s not it.”

Jeong Hae-Woon shook his head.

“Strictly speaking, it felt like I remembered, but I forgot again.”

Dan Haera nodded at that.

“That was probably ‘Gio’s portrait’ being considerate.”

“I was fine up until right before falling asleep, but when I came to, I was crying. Clearly something happened during that sleep... but I can’t remember anything...”

“Which means someone intervened.”

“Even the moment I regained my senses felt wrong. It just felt like I woke up normally, but the situation was strange. He covered my eyes... and when he took his hand away, he asked why I was crying.”

‘Why are you crying?’

“I told him I didn’t know.”

He truly remembered nothing.

“If it weren’t for the weirdness of the moment, I’d have thought I was sleepwalking. I was grabbing my teacher by the collar. It was fucking nuts... I wanted to ask more, but he turned back into a portrait.”

“Still, that portrait teacher is kinder than expected.”

Dan Haera smiled faintly.

“You really are the cause of the incident, Hae-Woon.”

“I’ll admit I stirred the pot a bit.”

But Jeong Hae-Woon didn’t grovel. He’d warned his friends about the risks of letting ‘Gio’s portrait’ into his home beforehand and had gotten their consent. This was within predicted parameters.

Still, not everything had gone as expected.

The real issue lay in how fast it happened.

Jeong Hae-Woon groaned.

“Ugh, shit... This is happening faster than we imagined.”

“How long’s it been since you brought the portrait home?”

“Almost three weeks now.”

“In just three weeks, you remembered the price of the Promise.”

Dan Haera tapped her lips.

“...That portrait must mean a lot to us.”

Never before had the cost of a Promise come rushing back this quickly. This case was truly an exception. Even someone as unshakable as Jeong Hae-Woon couldn’t stop it. That was concerning.

She glanced toward Cha Eun-Hye.

“Does Your Excellency have any thoughts?”

“Well... he’s someone that does carry that kind of weight. So... nothing to add, really.”

“Right, you were the one most against the portrait moving in with Hae-Woon.”

“I figured it would end like this once things started moving.”

Cha Eun-Hye let out a dry sigh, smiling bitterly.

“I asked him to please hold back. And I thought maybe it’d be okay, since Hae-Woon would focus on building new trust instead of clinging to the past. I really thought so. But I was wrong. This is ridiculous.”

“So even though both parties tried to restrain themselves, the memory of the ‘Promise’ still returned.”

Seo Seo-Hee nodded in understanding.

“The compatibility between the teacher and Hae-Woon must be absurdly high.”

“It’d be more surprising if a garden and its gardener didn’t get along.”

Jeong Hae-Woon agreed.

“Both of us are close to the Mystical. The Promise probably got shaken because of that. And since it happened while I was asleep, I likely dreamed about it. A dream about the cost of the Promise.”

“It’s the most reasonable explanation.”

“...Should I put some distance between us again?”

His face twisted a little at the thought.

“But if it’s that unstable, I can’t trust ‘Gio’s portrait.’ A mystical being with a human ego is too full of variables. I couldn’t just leave him unchecked.”

“We understand, Hae-Woon.”

Dan Haera spoke gently.

“You’re doing everything you can as a gardener protecting Earth. We all know that. It’s not like we agreed to let the portrait stay without understanding the risks. Don’t blame yourself too much.”

She touched her cheek with her hand.

“But it’s clear this incident taught us something. That being triggers a nostalgia we’ve long forgotten. We ignored it, but the hole in the Promise grew too large—so large even the system couldn’t contain it.”

“If I’d remembered anything, it might’ve helped a bit... Sorry, but I seriously remember nothing. Something definitely happened that dawn... but my head’s totally blank, like I just woke up.”

“Well, it is what it is.”

Dan Haera blinked a couple times.

“For now... let’s set a course.”

“A course? Sure. But what kind of course exactly?”

“I mean let’s discuss the direction we should take moving forward.”

“Direction, huh...”

“How to deal with that being.”

They couldn’t just leave things as they were. Even if this crisis had been smoothed over, it was dangerous to let such potential instability linger. They needed a firm policy.

“This incident is simple.”

Dan Haera twirled her fingers.

“If we reclaim the past, we lose the system. If we keep the system, we lose the past. We’ve always assumed we’d choose the latter—but this incident showed us that might not always be possible.”

That was their mistake. They’d lost their memories—so they hadn’t realized how much “Teacher Sergio” had meant to them. But his influence still lingered in their bodies and souls, fueling everything they did.

“We were arrogant. We thought a forgotten past couldn’t affect the future. But now Guildmaster Jeong Hae-Woon has proven otherwise.”

“So now we... need to account for that when determining our actions moving forward.”

Seo Seo-Hee nodded in agreement.

“Haera’s right. We know now that ignoring it won’t work, so our strategy needs to change. Otherwise, we’ll just keep suffering consequences unprepared.”

“Hmm, then...”

Dan Haera tilted her head.

“If we can’t kill the portrait... how about sealing it away?”

Silence followed.

“......”

“Oh my, that shut things up, didn’t it.”

“...You’re seriously... Wow, you’re actually...”

“I admit I spoke without enough sensitivity.”

“I get where you’re coming from, but...”

Jeong Hae-Woon’s face twisted in discomfort. Seo Seo-Hee laughed awkwardly. And Cha Eun-Hye—her expression was on the verge of tears. She looked at Dan Haera, visibly shocked.

“Ah, ah, no. That’s too much. That’s really not okay. H-He’s our teacher, damn it...! Haera, how could you say that to me...!”

“Calm down, Eun-Hye. I didn’t say it without thinking—so you two don’t look at me like that.”

Dan Haera patted her friend calmly.

“I know it’s an extreme solution. But it’s a question that had to be raised at some point. If we have to choose between the teacher and the system—I’m leaning toward the system.”

“I get what you’re saying, and I even agree with it... But I honestly couldn’t stomach doing something like that. Beyond whether it’s possible... I just... ugh...”

Cha Eun-Hye forcibly swallowed her emotions. She was the president of a nation—she couldn’t be swayed by feelings. She had to assess things objectively and reject what needed to be rejected.

“...Sealing isn’t an option.”

“If you say so, then that’s that.”

Dan Haera nodded immediately. Among them, no one understood the system, the teacher, or the past better than Cha Eun-Hye. If she said it wasn’t viable—then it wasn’t.

“Then what do you think we should do about this?”

“......”

After a moment’s hesitation, Cha Eun-Hye spoke.

“...Since ‘Gio’s portrait’ has already left Hae-Woon’s home and returned to being a painting, this might be our chance. Before another system error occurs, I need to talk to the teacher.”

“Oh my, could you really?”

“I’m sure he had some reason for doing this... but I don’t know what it is. He was never the kind to explain everything to his students...”

“You think he caused this incident on purpose?”

“At the very least, he wasn’t unaware of it.”

A sigh escaped her lips as she touched her mouth.

“He’s always been like that.”

He always knew what consequences his actions would bring. Even if his intent was small, he understood the flow of events and let himself be carried by it. This time likely wasn’t different.

Though... maybe it was.

So she needed to speak with him.

“......”

She felt choked up.

She didn’t know why she felt so anxious, or so afraid.

***

“So I’d appreciate it if you could tell me what you’re thinking.”

“...You know I don’t have thoughts, don’t you?”

“I’m not such a naïve student anymore that I’d fall for that lie.”

“To think you have so little trust in me.”

Gio’s heart ached under Cha Eun-Hye’s sharp glare.

“How sad.”

He really didn’t have any particular thoughts—but if he said that, he was sure she’d grab him by the collar.

‘What do I say to not get yelled at...’

It was the kind of night where that thought weighed heavily on his mind.